When Juan backs off, he slides into the seat next to me, taking my hand.
“You want to do it?” he asks seriously. “Or you don’t feel comfortable saying no?”
“I… want to help.” Shrugging, I glance around. “If I don’t like it, Juan won’t use them, right?”
He studies me before his face breaks into a grin. “Absolutely. Nothing will happen unless you’re comfortable, kitten. Are you sure?”
I’m absolutely not sure that this isn’t going to be a fuck-up of monumental proportions, but I give him a nod anyway.
Juan crows when I stand up. “You’ll be wonderful!”
He leads me over to the stylists that worked on Nathaniel, leaving me with a delighted grin.
Nate stays close to me as they work, a flurry of brushes and bronzer and who knows what else applied rapidly. The hairstylist sniffs as she picks up my braid, dropping it down so it slaps against my back.
“Tati.” Nate gives her a look, eyebrows raised.
“Workable,” the beta says grudgingly. Wincing, I decide that I can’t blame her. I haven’t exactly been keeping up to date with my styling regime recently.
Tati combs out my hair, wrestling with the tangles until it lies smoothly down my back before applying a sweet-smelling spray and brushing it through again.
Juan checks in, nodding happily as his eyes move over my face. “Excellent,” he says, beaming at me. “Doing okay, sweetheart?”
I barely manage a nod before they hustle me over to a section filled with portable rails, bursting with various swimsuits and underwear.
The stylist, Sascha, clicks her tongue, her eyes moving over me. “I have just the thing.”
She shoos Nate away for me to get dressed, rapidly rigging up a more private section so I’m not flashing the rest of the warehouse.
“Thank you,” I tell her. My head is spinning already, and I haven’t even stepped in front of a camera yet.
My nerves start to kick in full blast when Sascha passes me a scrap of white material through the curtain. I stare down at it, confused.
“Um, Sascha?” I call. “What’s this?”
She just cackles. “That’s what we’re working with, babe!”
Feeling a little lightheaded, I sink down on the hard floor, taking deep breaths.
I just need a minute.
When Sascha calls my name, I suck it up and wobble to my feet on shaky legs. It takes me a few minutes to wriggle out of my clothes and work out where the various straps go on the brassiere.
There’s no mirror, so I gingerly poke my head out, looking for Sascha.
No sign of her, but Nate is leaning against a railing and straightens.
“Kitten?” he asks. He takes a step forward. “You okay?”
Nodding, I brace myself before yanking the curtain open.
Nate goes motionless.
“It’s…,” I look down. “Is this okay?”
The thin silk bodysuit clings to me like a second skin. Ivory lace panels trace up my stomach and over the cups covering my breasts, held up by a thin halter neck strap that pushes them together.
Nate’s throat bobs. “Turn around. Please.”
